Opening the Windows
by Paradoxica
Summary: They say that being different is a bad thing... [ Implied homicide. ]


Opening the Windows  
_by piper_  
  
The only real memory I ever had of my sister was of her slapping my thigh for breaking one of her dolls. It was the pretty porcelain one, with the wedding dress and all. I had been so fascinated with it, with it's little, sewn on beads that were supposed to be pearls... the gorgeous, sparkling blue eyes and her seemingly perfect curly blonde hair. All I had wanted to do was hold it. To touch it. She was really upset with me and, at the time, I was with the doll. It wasn't supposed to break, but it had.... And now all that was left were shattered bits of glass where her head used to be.  
  
I was six, I think. All I really remember was her gazing furiously at me and then very aware my thigh was all red save the small, white imprint of her hand. I had run off crying and she was promptly punished.... I wonder why that the only thing I can remember. In all the pictures dad had, she was always very pretty. Very nice.  
  
My mother died not long after the car crash. After Amane's funeral was when she first grew sick. Dad stopped his trips to Egypt then, spent time with her... Sometimes she would cry, sometimes dad.... but, for once, I think... I think I had been happy. It was all of us, together. I missed Amane, but it seemed her death was bringing me a happy ending, despite all odds.   
  
I was eight when my mother died from her own mind. January twenty-fouth... I think. A whole world away from Amane, who was killed in June. It didn't take my father long to return back to work. In fact, he immersed himself in it... trying to take away the sting of it all. He was rarely ever home after that. There was always some new discovery, an unrobbed tomb.... another old pot to add to a dreary collection in Los Angeles. It was about then... I started to stop caring about my grades.  
  
It's not as if my father noticed, of course. He was rarely there one important occasions, let alone signing my report cards. After that, I had learned to forge my father's signature flawlessly and the teacher's never said a word. Not like they would often reprimand me anyway. My activities other then work were far more innocent. I loved to read.... That sounds silly, I know, but it seemed the only thing I could do. Coming home everyday to an empty apartment left me at ten very scared... In a way, my books protected me. Stopped me from thinking about the fact that every creak in the night might be death looking to completely the job to the Bakura family. Or maybe it didn't like boys.  
  
Reading wasn't as silly as some of my other hobbies, of course... I love the fantasy aspect of text. You wouldn't believe how many wardrobes I used to check for doorways to another world... I had a collection of old keys that never fit into any locks. When I found a particularly interesting rock, I'd take it home, was it with soap, and sit for hours watching it on the table. I always thought, Maybe today is it. Today is the day my life will change... Something will happen and I'll be happier then ever before.'  
  
I started writing letters to my sister then. There's still a big pile in the closet. I never knew where to send them.  
  
Before I knew it, I was thirteen. I still brought home pretty rocks and had about fifty keys, though, at that point... Reality had made it pretty clear I was never going to walk through a wall into Narnia. But I still did it. I still tried, even though my mind was screaming it wasn't possible.... It was also around this time I started getting friends. Mostly girls, of course. The other boys never liked me much, mainly because I was too quiet, or too soft spoken for their tastes. I was a pretty good soccer player (and still am... Though, moving made me quit the team. Never felt the need to start doing it again.) and that seemed my only worthwhile attribute -- the girls just thought I was mysterious. That's what Miho said too.  
  
I don't _feel_ mysterious.  
  
Fourteen. I started getting beat up... I seemingly have no back bone, but that doesn't stop me from hitting back. I'm not small, so kicking was enough to get them to back off, even if I did come out with black eyes. The only issue was when there were more then two.... The teachers started disliking me more and more. I used to just be unattatentative, but now I was getting into fights. They called my father and the next time he was home, I got a decent yelling. I don't think he was mad at me... Because he blaimed himself.  
  
On my fifteenth birthday, dad was home for it. That was so rare, so it made sense I was very happy about it. He really only could stay a few hours but.. It was enough. Deep down, I think I knew he was really trying to make up for not being there... For thinking he didn't raise me well enough to avoid getting into trouble. Then again, to him, this house... must have brought back too many memories. I really wished he had kept some of their things... But I have one picture, so I think that's all I needed.  
  
We were eating dinner when he told me he had something for me. He left, getting something from his suitcase and, by the time he came back, I had started washing the dishes. He set a folded over cloth next to me on the counter. It wasn't anything fancy, really... In fact, it looked like a towel from a hotel. I dried off my hands.  
  
It made me think of you. Happy birthday, Ryou.'  
  
He had to rush off then, even before I touched the bundle. There was a very important excavation going on in China; he had to be there. It wasn't until the door had clicked shut did I take the thing to the kitchen table. Half of me thought it was a book, though dad had to be very, very ill if he wrapped it up in a towel. Another part of my didn't want to open it. I was mad. This was a pity gift... The expense of cheap love. I shouldn't care what it was... So I didn't open it. I left it on the table, closed the windows, went to bed....  
  
...and felt incredibly guilty the next morning. It was too dark for me, so I went over... opening the windows. Filters of light moved in and I sat down in the chair just like I had last night. My hands were shaking... I'll never know why... and I opened the towel. Inside was what looked like something my father could have found on the dig. It was... beautiful. I sat perfectly still.... I'm not sure for how long. There was a growing mantra ringing in my head... and I touched it.  
  
Maybe today is it....' It was freezing to the touch... It had to be gold. Pure and solid. Something made me pull it closer.  
  
Today is the day my life will change...' I wanted it near me. I wanted it close...  
  
Something will happen....' ...and I put it over my head. It felt right. It felt warm... What was this thing..?  
  
...and I'll be happier then ever before...' It started glowing and I felt my limbs going numb. I thought I saw Amane, slapping my leg... My mother and dad and I... A key...  
  
....happier then ever before.'   
  
The tomb robber stared wordlessly at his host's soul room. He had stopped the thoughts at that point and the windows to the host's mind closed. Now all that remained was a quiet, lifeless room. Even in the now dim reccesses of the room, he could feel it. Perhaps that was what he most enjoyed.  
  
...and he closed the door.  
  
***  
Author Comment(s): I really.... -really- need to quit killing off people. It's a severly odd habit in my writing. As for this short piece, well... I actually wrote it awhile back and just had yet to post it. Hopefully I can get out of my rut soon an finish Clean'?  
***


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